


Sink Me

by killian_will_do



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, captain swan scarlet pimpernel au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killian_will_do/pseuds/killian_will_do
Summary: Sir Killian Jones has determined it’s time he become the gentleman his brother and parents always wished him to be. Before returning to England to take up his baronetcy he meets the cleverest woman in all of Europe, a French actress by the name Emma St. Cygne. He falls desperately in love and quickly persuades her to marry him. Shortly after their wedding, Killian discovers Emma has betrayed him and he questions how well he truly knows her. Heartbroken, missing his brother, and wishing for a course of action, he decides he can no longer sit idly by while the French Reign of Terror and Madam Guillotine continue to take innocent life. Enter a band of friends, a secret identity, and heroic missions across the Channel. While his alter ego inflames gossip and receives much adoration, his silly and aloof public mask only serves to push Emma further away. Can they come to a reconciliation and save their marriage or will Emma betray him again?CS Scarlet Pimpernel AU - My humble entry into the @captainswanmoviemarathon
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Captain Swan Movie Marathon





	Sink Me

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is loosely based on the 1982 movie, the book, and the Broadway musical so there is much creative licensing and smorgasbord-ing going on. Hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading!

**Paris, France - 1792**

The night air was cool on Killian’s face as his carriage carefully picked it’s way through the dark Paris streets. He would have preferred to ride horseback, but he was too tired to maintain a mount and his mind was in turmoil. 

His thoughts swirled around what business he must complete in Paris before returning to his estate in England. He felt his resolve wavering the closer he got to his homeland. Shaking his head, he grimaced thinking of how Liam would have felt about the way he had spent the last few years. 

A shout brought his gaze back to the open window. He could see in the dusk light three men on the edge of the street. Two of the men were forcing the third into an alleyway, no doubt to give him a beating. 

Normally Kilian would have brushed it off with a thought,  _ poor chap. _ But something about the scene made him tap on the roof to stop the coach and he got out, grasping the sword on his hip. 

“Pardon me,” he called politely. One of the braggards looked round and Killian didn’t hesitate to land him a facer, knocking the bloke down.The other man turned to his fallen comrade and Killian used the hummel of his sword to thump him soundly between the eyes. 

With the attackers now groaning on the street, Killian held out a hand for their prey. 

“It seems you’ve made some enemies, lad.”

The man, not much younger than Killian really, grasped the proffered hand and stood up.

“Aye, ‘tis the fate of a man who loves the wrong woman.” He groaned while gently prodding his bleeding face.

“All this over a woman?” Killian laughed. ”Well we are in Paris, I suppose. You Frenchmen are as passionate as they say. Might I escort you home? To ensure your friends here don’t go for a second attempt?”

“That would be highly appreciated, monsieur. David St. Cygne, in your debt.” The man offered his hand and Killian shook it.

“Not at all! Sir Killian Jones, at your service.” He made a mock half-bow. “Come, let us away!”

Killian held the door for David as he gingerly got into the carriage. As David gave directions to the coachman, Killian smiled to himself, Liam’s words coming to him. 

_ A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. _

He suspected Liam would have liked Monsieur David. 

Upon their arrival to David’s townhome, he invited Killian inside.

“No, really. You’ll be doing me a favor. My sister will not be pleased if she sees me this way. With you there, she’ll be too polite to berate me.”

Killian laughed, “She sounds like a wonderful sister.”

“Oh exceptional, really. But she’ll want to thank you too. I insist!”

Killian briefly sighed over the bed he was still not asleep in, but good-naturedly followed David inside. 

David asked a maid for refreshments and he left Killian in the parlor so he could tend to his injuries. Killian took a seat on the sofa nearest the fire, fighting his fatigue. 

Several minutes passed before he heard the front door open and anxious cries coming up the stairs.

“David! Are you here?”

A woman burst into the parlor and Killian stood to meet her. The greeting died on his lips. 

Even in his tired state, it was obvious to Killian that she was exquisite. Her skin shone in the firelight, her face clearly sculpted by one of the Italian masters, but it was her eyes that captured him. They were filled with concern, their green color clear even across the room. 

Entranced, he watched as those bewitching eyes quickly searched the room and stopped on his unfamiliar figure.

Their gazes met and held.

After a moment she asked, “Monsieur?”

Killian realized she was waiting for him to introduce himself and he forcefully pulled his mind from cataloguing the many shades of gold the fire was reflecting in her hair to attend to the conversation. 

“Pardon me, my dear,” the endearment slipped out unintentionally. “I’m sure your brother will attend us shortly.”

The moment he said it, he realized he wasn’t sure this was David’s sister. He sent a silent prayer to the gods that this beautiful woman was not David’s lover. 

That thought surprised him. What did it matter if her affections were engaged elsewhere? Killian was wary of feeling this kind of interest in a woman. Plus his obligations in England would make it difficult to entertain a Parisian miss. 

Some of her panic cleared at his words and she eyed him speculatively. He wanted to straighten his spine and tug at his waistcoat, but he forced himself to maintain his lazy stance, one shoulder braced against the fireplace. 

“And who might you be?” she asked, taking a bold step further into the room.

“This is Sir Killian Jones, Emma,” David chose that moment to reappear.

Emma whirled on him, hands instantly reaching for the bruise on David’s cheek and the cut on his brow. 

“And do not fret, ma chérie. I am in one piece.” 

Killian was relieved to see David’s injuries did not appear too severe. 

“Oh, David! The housekeeper sent a maid to find me when she saw your injuries. Who did this?” her voice turned soft and tender. 

Killian’s mind was instantly filled with imaginings of her using such a tone on him. 

David sighed. “You know who it was. Mary Magaret’s guardian does not look too kindly on her commoner lover.”

_ Ah, so this beautiful creature is not David’s paramour - more’s the better _ , Killian thought.

He noticed a blush suffuse David’s face.  _ Was he uncomfortable with his “common” status, the disapproval of his beloved’s family, or that he had been soundly beaten? _ Killian wondered. 

Emma’s posture turned rigid, her hands going to her hips. Killian couldn’t help noting distractedly that her figure really was quite lovely.

“That awful man, Pendragon. He is the reason this country is calling for aristocratic blood.” 

David smiled at her fondly. 

“Yes, my little revolutionary. You and I are in agreement with a good deal of the New Republic’s ideals. But I doubt Arthur Pendragon would let Mary Magaret and myself marry even if I was nobility.”

It seemed to Killian that they had had this conversation before. 

“You deserve to be happy, David,” Emma said stubbornly.

The evident love and care between the siblings struck Killian with longing.  _ Oh, Liam _ , he sighed sadly. 

The maid brought in a tea tray.

“Maybe so!” David said with false cheerfulness, perhaps trying to lighten his sister’s mood. “But we are being rude to our guest. Sir Killian, this is Emma St. Cygne, my sister and the most talented actress in Paris.”

A faint memory tugged at Killian’s mind. 

Emma scoffed at David’s words, but turned towards Killian to curtsey.

“Seeking to humble me, dear brother? You usually claim ‘in all of France’ at least.” 

Reaching for her hand, Killian bowed over it. “Having traveled much, I can confidently say you are the most talented actress in all of Europe,” Killian assured.

“Have you seen my sister perform, monsieur?” David asked surprised. 

“Yes, but it was a few years ago now.” The memory was vague, but once it was mentioned he was sure he had seen her in a small part at the  Comédie Française a couple years ago. For such a small role, she practically stole the show if he remembered correctly. “Having just arrived in Paris, I think a trip to the theater might be in order to refresh my memory.”

“Well then to repay you, Emma must secure us a box for her next performance,” David said, turning to his sister.

“And why might we be repaying Monsieur Killian?” Emma asked.

The blush came back to David’s face.

_ Ahh,  _ thought Killian.  _ It is the beating he was ashamed of. _

“Oh, ‘tis nothing much,” Killian said, coming to the rescue. “I simply offered him an escort home after he dispatched his attackers.” 

Emma's expression turned skeptical, but she did not look at her brother, choosing instead to stare Killian down. 

Killian was sure she had used this look with much success in the past. He was delighted at the challenge and instantly determined not to give away the game. He smiled politely at her. 

“Your brother is really quite accomplished at fisticuffs,” he managed to say with an appropriately disinterested face. 

He saw David shaking his head with a small smile over Emma’s head.

Emma’s expression turned amused, but Killian’s didn’t waver. Inside, he grinned. 

“Alright then,” she said. “I will reserve you a box, Sir Killian. Tomorrow night next?” 

This time he let a bit of his aloofness slip and the depth of intrigue he felt towards her show, “It can not come soon enough, Mademoiselle St. Cygne.” 

* * *

Sir Killian Jones, baronet, was an accomplished masquerader. At the age of seven, his brother helped him fashion his first public mask. 

  
  


_ Three things had become apparent to young Killian while inadvertently eavesdropping on his father and a visiting doctor. Their mother was ill, the doctor recommended the asylum, but their father would not have it.  _

_ “She is  _ not _ mad! Get out of my house! And if I hear one word of this bandied about the papers, I will ensure that you do not attend to so much as a kitten for the rest of your godforsaken life!” _

_ Killian glanced at his brother, wondering if the shock and fear showed as plainly on his own face. Liam grabbed his hand and ushered them back to Liam’s room. _

_ “Do not fear, Killian. Father will know what to do.” Liam assured him. His brother was 11 years old, home from school for a short break, and clearly much more knowledgeable than Killian.  _

_ Killian nodded mutely, wondering why someone would say his dear, sweet mother was mad. She was...fragile at times, but she looked at him with such love in her eyes… No, madness was impossible.  _

_ Liam tried to distract Killian by resuming his chess lesson, but he was not easily diverted. _

_ “Do you think Mother is mad?” Killian finally blurted out. _

_ Setting down the white knight Liam had been explaining, he fixed Killian with a stern look. _

_ “Do not spare such thoughts even a moment, Killian. Do not even speak them.” _

_ When Killian looked sufficiently repentant, Liam continued with wisdom beyond his eleven years.  _

_ “We must not let anyone, the servants included, think that something is amiss with Mother or our family. That is the only way to help Mother and Father.” _

  
  


Killian had taken the missive to heart. He quickly became very good at predicting his mother’s moods, moderating the worst of them, and smiling charmingly at any one who spared them a second glance. 

Not long after, Liam was taken out of school and the Joneses began an extended holiday across Europe. It took almost a full year abroad before Killian realized his father didn’t plan on returning them to England anytime soon. Only later did Killian understand the pattern to their travels--staying ahead of any rumors circulating about their mother’s health when their masks were insufficient. 

Along with his doting son and happy-family personas, Killian learned to fit in wherever they traveled. He picked up on languages and adapted to his company, matching the tone and expression of day laborers and nobility alike. His mother jokingly nicknamed him her chameleon. 

All of this taught Killian the important, self preserving skill of holding people at a distance. A skill which only became more necessary after his family passed away, leaving him alone in the world. 

* * *

Mademoiselle St. Cygne was even more electric on the stage than Killian remembered.

He had spent a difficult day sorting through the affairs of his family’s Paris home and going through his local investments. His father hadn’t trusted a man of business to help with the family’s affairs, but Killian thought a local solicitor, well informed about the changing French political and economic climate, might prove to be invaluable. In times like this Killian was quite put out with Liam for dying and leaving him the baronetcy. 

But the moment Emma stepped on stage, Killian felt his burdens drift away as the story came alive through Emma’s portrayal. Her sorrow caused tears, her agitation was palpable, and her eventual dramatic death to close out the production was heart wrenching. A hush fell over the crowd for a full thirty seconds after she had slumped lifelessly into her pillows. The curtains fell and a roar erupted from the crowd. 

Standing with David in a box at the  Comédie Française, Killian clapped and bravo-ed with the rest of Paris as Emma took her bows.

David elbowed Killian and gestured to a box across the way. 

“Mary Magaret and her guardian,” David shouted over the continued adoration.

Killian noted the dark haired beauty, quite obviously sneaking eyes at Monsieur St. Cygne, and her dark haired protector outright glaring at them across the theater. 

The man sparked a memory in Killian’s mind. He was almost positive Arthur Pendragon had been at least an acquaintance of his father’s during their stay in Paris almost 15 years ago. He did not remember him having a ward at that point.

Eventually the applause dissolved into excited chatter and David led Killian to Emma’s private receiving room. While the crowds in the theater had started to thin, the crowd in  Mademoiselle St. Cygne’s parlor only continued to grow. 

David disappeared to meet with some acquaintances and Killian was left to watch Emma interact with her admirers. 

He found himself marveling that she was even more beautiful than he remembered. He watched enchanted as she smiled and laughed, wittily rejoined, and playfully flirted with everyone who spoke to her. 

It was odd, he noted, that he felt almost none of his usual cautiousness with new acquaintances. He felt a kind of magnetic pull to her that he had never experienced before. He could easily admit that he wished to know more of her. 

Those not immediately in Emma’s gravitational pull seemed to be gossiping about who had been in attendance. For the most part, Killian tuned it all out as he watched Emma’s hands as she spoke, the lift of her eyebrow as she challenged something someone said to her. 

Killian took notice of a severe-looking fellow entering the room when the talk around him shifted dramatically. The trio of society ladies behind Killian changed their lively tone and whispered quite urgently. 

“Citizen Neal has arrived.” 

“Did you hear what happened today?”

“No--”

“Twenty executions in the Plaza de la Greve.

“Twenty-three!”

“No!”

“Apparently all traitors to the New Republic. Even Comte Merlin.” 

“Comte Merlin?! But what was his crime? 

“Corruption of some kind. You know his father was a close friend of the King.”

“Citizen Neal is on the Committee for National Security. He wrote all of their death warrants.” 

“Goodness! That is quite shocking. It is becoming more and more dangerous to be an aristocrat these days.”

“Yes, I’ve heard rumors more arrests will take place this week.”

“I was surprised to see Comte Pendragon here tonight. I hear he is under investigation. Did you know--” 

The talk was disconcerting enough to pull Killian from his musings on Emma’s laugh. He hadn’t known Merlin personally, had only heard of his reputation, but he had seemed an honorable man from a very old line of French nobility. The same could be said for Arthur Pendragon despite his disapproval of his ward’s suitor. He wondered about the other twenty-two people killed that day and their possible crimes. It appeared his travels over the last few months had kept the real state of the revolution from reaching his ears. He was not aware things had gotten so bloody. 

Citizen Neal approached Emma and her hand tightening into a fist at the small of her back caught Killian’s attention. 

Neal leaned into Emma with a smile and she returned it, but Killian noticed she held herself at a distance even though Neal seemed determined to sway into her space. No one else around Emma appeared to be observing her subtle declarations of discomfort. 

_ She  _ is _ quite the actress, _ he reminded himself. 

Killian felt concern and an odd feeling of resentment well up inside him. Without mentally deciding to, he found himself crossing the room to them, catching Mademoiselle St. Cygne’s eye. 

“Sir Killian,” she exclaimed, welcoming him into their conversation. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Immensely, my dear!” The endearment was almost on purpose this time. “The costumes were simply magnificent.” He watched Emma’s eyes widen slightly at his affected drawl. He had not employed much of a mask with her and David the other night, but he felt the need to be as off-putting as possible to this “Citizen” Neal. 

He threw in his most elaborate bow for good measure. 

When he looked up, Emma was smirking at him, clearly amused. 

“Truly? Have you no care for Mademoiselle St. Cygne’s revelatory performance?” Neal asked disdainfully.

Killian tore his gaze away from Emma and glanced at Neal. His disgust was apparent and Killian internally grinned in triumph. 

“Neal, this is Sir Killian Jones. Sir Killian, this is Neal Gold, Chief Agent of the Committee of National Security.” 

“How do you do?” Neal asked flatly. 

“Splendidly, my good man. Much better than those  _ aristos _ you guillotined today I’m afraid. Quite a ghastly business, this revolution of yours.” 

Neal’s eyes flashed in anger, but Killian saw Emma’s clenched fist relax and drift to her side. He mentally cheered. Putting her at ease made him oddly proud. 

“Only those individuals who have proven themselves a threat to our great nation have been put to the guillotine. There must be some growing pains as the New Republic takes over what was so poorly managed by our king.”

“Of course, of course. I do not resent your right to revolt, good sir. But tell me, did you execute all of your tailors?”

“Our tailors, monsieur?” Neal asked, confused. 

“Why, yes! Pardon me, but your attire is quite ghastly. I fear I cannot even look upon your cuffs without feeling pain. Perhaps you should have spared one or two tailors to attend to your appearance. I wouldn’t be caught dead in such a frightful color either.”

Taking out his quizzing glass, Killian squinted one eye dramatically at Neal’s black coat and tsked loudly.

“I assure you we are quite proud of our French tailors and the new society we are building.” Neal said through clenched teeth. 

“Yes, well with all this equality going around, try to keep some of your tailors out of politics or I quite fear for your clothing and for your government,” Killian said with a polite smile as he returned his eye glass to his pocket. 

“Thank you for your illuminating insight, sir,” Neal spit out. “Emma,” he offered her a small bow and walked away. 

Once Neal had excited the room, Emma laughed quietly.

“Be careful you do not make Neal your enemy, Sir Killian. He is gaining power in the French government, and the New Republic...well they are taking some very bold steps lately.” Emma’s eyes turned troubled and he wondered if she was second guessing some of the new regime’s plans. 

Killian smiled at her, hoping to encourage hers to return. 

“Perhaps, but I doubt there is much he can do to an English gentleman. Besides envy my tailors, of course.”

He was rewarded with another laugh. “You are most unreasonable, sir. I fear this facade will not make you many friends.” 

“ Facade ?” Killian asked. “Whatever do you mean?” It was rare someone called him on his various caricatures, but he remembered her determined look from the night they met. She saw things other people didn’t. 

“Yes, this facade,” Emma scoffed goodnaturedly. “I’ve seen glimpses of the man beneath the highly fashionable clothing” her hands carelessly flicked the sleeve of his finely made coat, “this gently-bred aloofness, and idiotic drawl.”

“Beneath my clothing? Shocking, milady! Simply shocking,” he tried to tease.

She ignored it and a seriousness entered her gaze. 

“That man rescued David.” 

Killian found his breath stilling in his chest. He could not look away.

“I would like to know that man better,” she confessed quietly. 

Killian’s heart leapt. Who was this magnificent woman and how did she see him so easily? 

Taking a deep breath, Killian found his mind settling into a resolve he did not know he had been contemplating. In time, he would show Emma who he truly was. 

Betraying his feelings, his voice dropped huskily, “And I would have you know him. But what of your mask?”

Emma smiled in acknowledgement. “So you and I--we understand each other?” 

Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips for a brief kiss. 

“Aye, I believe so, my dear.” 

This time he meant the endearment. 


End file.
